


don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 02:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14558436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: A little AU just after 3B - no Marian, no Elsa, no ice wall, no date. The Nevengers return to the Enchanted Forest to find that Killian has a new reputation among the ladies… but not for the reason you’d think.





	don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation

Emma notices it first in the second tavern they get to. As they’re leaving, a young woman is just coming in through the door. She’s wearing a low-cut dress and a flirtatious painted smile, and for all that Emma isn’t familiar with the Enchanted Forest, she knows the look. She knows what the woman is, why she’s here.

And as she passes, her eyes flicking up at Killian, he freezes slightly, and her smile tilts into surprise and recognition.

Emma thinks nothing of it, but it happens again as they make their way along the road to the nearest port. Not obvious, by any stretch, but they meet more than one lady who seems familiar with Killian.

She tries not to be bothered by it. She has no claim on him, after all; they’re not even really dating _now_ , and they certainly weren’t when he was back here last. They left Storybrooke in a hurry, as usual, and now they’re far too busy trying to find the Author and evade the Queens of Darkness to have much time for romance. And it’s not like she was celibate during the missing year—much as she now wishes she had been.

When they reach the port, though, it gets worse.

They’ve barely set foot in a dockside tavern when a pretty, sandy-haired woman sidles up to Killian. “Captain Hook,” she says, her voice low and smoky. “Back after all.”

Killian grins down at her, his hand on her arm as he moves past her. “Sally, darling. I hope you’re well?”

“Always,” she says with a smile. “I don’t suppose you’re here to collect your due?”

“Due’s been paid,” he assures her. “Is the missus around?”

Sally grins, and points. “Over in the corner. You can’t miss her.”

He sweeps her hand to his lips in one smooth motion. “Thank you, darling.”

Sally laughs, shaking her head at him. “Enigmatic as ever. See you around, Hook.”

She gives a little wave, and saunters off.

Killian clears his throat, sliding a slightly guilty look at Emma. “Over there, then.”

“What was that about?” David demands. “Where exactly are we, Hook?”

Killian sighs, and leans over so he can reply in an undertone. “We are in a port tavern, mate, complete with all the usual denizens of such places. Who, I might remind you, are our best chance at information and passage to our destination.”

“And who’s this missus you asked about?”

“The madam who runs the brothel upstairs,” Killian says, his tone matter-of-fact. “And I’d rather not keep her waiting. Excuse me.”

Emma follows him; so, once he realises, does David. By unspoken agreement, Snow and Regina stay back with Henry and the baby.

The madam turns out to be an older lady leaning back against the bar and watching the goings-on in the tavern. She looks up as they approach, and smiles a wide, toothy smile. “I’ll be damned. Captain Hook.”

Killian spreads his arms, a dashing smile on his face. “Donna.”

“What brings you here? I know it ain’t my girls.” She winked at him.

Killian clears his throat. “Aye, well... I was hoping to speak with you.”

Donna’s shrewd, narrowed eyes flick over David and Emma before returning to him. “Speak, then.”

Donna turns out to know a great deal. She knows that the sailors coming in from the east talk about the strange currents in the water there. She knows that there’s talk of Maleficent’s castle being occupied again. And she knows that there’s rumour of Snow White’s return, and a new price on her head.

“What did she mean?” Emma asks afterwards, when they’ve retreated to a table in the corner with the others. “It ain’t her girls?”

Killian shrugs, not quite meeting her eyes. “Nothing of consequence.”

But it is of consequence. It takes another trip to another tavern, this time with Emma dressed as a whore—David almost had kittens, Killian offered pointers, and Regina, thankfully, kept Henry out of the way—before she figures it out.

“You’re wasting your time with that one,” the woman beside her says as Emma leans against the bar, surreptitiously watching Killian as he plays cards and makes friends with shady-looking people who probably know things.

Emma looks at her, startled. “What?”

“Captain Hook,” the woman says, smiling wryly. She’s very pretty, and definitely a prostitute. “He’s a looker, I’ll grant you, but trust me. Find another mark. If his crew ain’t with him, he won’t even pretend.”

“Pretend?” Emma asks, completely lost now.

“Aye.” The woman shrugs. “All swagger, no follow-through.”

That doesn’t sound like Killian Jones. At all.

Some of Emma’s doubt clearly registers on her face, because the woman leans closer conspiratorially, and goes on, “Paid me to tell his crew we had a grand time when they hired me. I think he might favour the lads, you know?”

Emma almost chokes on her own spit. “Yeah?”

The woman shrugs. “Some men like to hide it. S’pose maybe his crew’s from places where they have odd ideas, eh?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, the words coming out automatically, even though she knows that’s definitely not true. Killian has never been one to hide his preferences. “S’pose so.”

She confronts him about it afterwards, unable to keep quiet as night falls around them and they’re making their way back towards the inn where the others are staying. “Killian.”

“Aye?”

“I had a very interesting conversation about you with one of the, uh, ladies of the night.”

“Ladies of the night?” he echoes, amused.

“Uh-huh. You didn’t sleep with them, did you.”

“Pardon?” He’s stalling.

“All these... women. Who look at you like they know you. Who you _paid_ to tell your crew that they slept with you.”

“So much for buying a whore’s silence,” Killian growls. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but Emma is pretty sure he’s blushing. She’s never seen that before, and she realises that he’s known about this reputation of his a lot longer than she has. That explains the shifty looks and forced smiles, anyway.

Only Killian Jones, she thinks, would be embarrassed for being caught _not_ sleeping with a prostitute.

“She was just sharing advice with me,” Emma says. “Telling me not to waste my time with you, since you’re not interested.”

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “I can assure you, Swan, _that_ couldn’t be further from the truth.”

She ignores the little jump her heart gives at that, and tries to keep her light, teasing tone. “So what gives? What happened?”

He shrugs, scratching at his neck before waving his hand vaguely. “What happened is that I tried to go back to a life of piracy, and it didn’t work. I suppose my crew noticed my mood and tried to cheer me up the only way they knew how: with a woman. So I paid her to tell them we’d had a good time. This happened a few times, enough for me to have gained a... reputation, it seems.”

The pieces fall into place. “During the missing year. That’s why they all remember you.”

“Of course they remember me,” Killian says indignantly, his embarrassment vanishing as he gestures to his face and grins at her. “I’m a hard man to forget.”

And yet, Emma thinks, she did exactly that. For a whole year. While he was stuck here, remembering, thinking he’d never see her again. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. “I mean, it’s not like you and me—you know. You could’ve.”

He frowns at her, as though the answer is obvious. “It’s bad form to sleep with a woman while thinking of another, wouldn’t you say?”

There’s no trace of embarrassment as he says that—of course not. He’s never been ashamed of his feelings. Emma swallows. He did tell her he’d be thinking of her every day. She just didn’t quite believe him, much as she wanted to. “I, uh. I guess so.”

“I was _not_ ,” he goes on, scowling again, “planning on gaining a reputation as a monk.”

Emma grins at him, trying to ignore the way her heart is still pounding after what he just said—or implied. “Well, for what it’s worth, the lady I talked to seemed to think you might just be into guys.”

“A rather stupid conclusion, seeing as I didn’t sleep with any men, either,” Killian says wryly. “But a relief nonetheless, I’ll admit.”

“Why?” Emma asks, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean, why does it matter? Can’t have people thinking you’re not a womaniser?”

“More of a _man_ iser these days, apparently,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Don’t tell Dave, you’ll get his hopes up.”

Emma laughs even as she grimaces. “Oh my god.”

He winks, and sobers again. “No, it isn’t that. There’s nothing wrong with celibacy or monogamy, and no one here would look askance at you for it. But I had a reputation, among my crew and generally. So my lack of—interest, as it were, would have been rather a giveaway that I was no longer the pirate I had been. Monogamy is one thing, unrequited—well.” His eyes flick away, down, to study his hook. “They would have seen it as weakness, and I couldn’t have that.”

Emma gets it, and her heart jumps again, but it’s not scary anymore. It hasn’t been scary in a while, in fact. She still tries to suppress it, but it’s out of habit, not fear.

They’ve almost reached their destination now, and they’re alone on the cobbled street, illuminated by the golden lights from the houses around them. Emma comes to a stop, and Killian follows her lead, like he always does.

“It, uhm,” she says. “It’s not—how you feel, it’s not unrequited, you know.”

His eyes are back on hers in a flash, surprised and suddenly, wildly, hopeful. And then the swagger is back, but his eyes remain soft, bright, warm. “Is that so,” he says, teasing and fond all at once.

She cocks her head, and maybe she sways towards him a little, tilts her head up at him, smiles a soft sort of challenge. “You’re telling me that’s news to you? After all those times you told me I definitely secretly liked you?”

“Wishful thinking, love,” he says, his voice low and a little breathless. She’s feeling a little breathless herself, because he’s awfully close, and it’s not like she hasn’t kissed him before, or a few times since that evening outside Granny’s, but they’ve never really talked. She’s been kind of avoiding it, because she doesn’t _do_ the whole romance thing, or rather, she has no idea how, and she doesn’t want to screw it up.

She’s beginning to think that maybe she had that wrong. Maybe the ideals she’s had in her head aren’t actually what either of them wants. She wasn’t even _there_ for an entire year, and yet he never gave up on her. Maybe she _can’t_ screw this up, because he wants her the way she is, and she can’t help but be that.

Just as she wants him as he is, piracy and slanted morals and insufferable smirk and all.

She reaches up to cup his cheek and leans in to brush her lips over his. He responds at once, like he always does, kissing her back. Part of her remembers that they’re in the middle of the street, within sight of the inn, but she can’t bring herself to care. Because _he_ cares—and he’s kept every promise and then some, and she’s so, so sick of holding back, of being afraid.

“You’re not supposed to say your wishes out loud, you know,” she breathes, when they drift apart a little.

“Hmm.” He nudges her nose with his. “It seems to be working out for me.”

She nips at his lower lip, relishes the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks when he closes his eyes. “Minus the whole ruined-reputation thing?”

He growls in the back of his throat--a good sound, and one she files away to try and replicate later. “I don’t suppose I can persuade you to keep that quiet?”

“I don’t know,” she muses, idly stroking over the scruff on his cheek. “I think David would appreciate an explanation for the way all these women look at you...”

He lets his head fall back, brows knitting together in something like agony--another good look, another thing to remember for later. “Have mercy on me, love.”

She leans in to kiss his neck, the underside of his jaw. “Never.”

She can hear his grin when he speaks next. “Ah, well. Perhaps mercy is overrated.”

She laughs, leaning back and catching hold of his hand. “Come on. Let’s get back before my dad sends out a search party.”

“Aye.”

“Although at least that should be easier now, finding the monk pirate.”

He glowers at her, though amusement is still making his eyes sparkle, and she laughs, swinging their joined hands between them.

If romance is like this, she thinks, then it seems they have time for it after all.

 


End file.
